Page 23 of The Sculptor

She sucks in a breath, her eyes widening from the evidence of just how alluring I find her right now. “Someone will see us and report it back to Langston.”

I take her hand, the one with the wrong engagement ring. “Are you sure that would be a bad thing?”

“Yes.” Her chin quivers, but she holds back the emotion, pulling her hand back shakily. “I love Langston.”

The difference between a good and honorable man is knowing when to concede defeat.

I’m neither good nor honorable.

I’m relentless.

Stepping back, I graze my knuckles down her soft cheek. “You’re never more beautiful than when you lie.”

“I’m not ly—”

“All right, ladies and gentlemen. Now that everyone is here, let’s get started,” the teacher says, interrupting yet another lie. “Find a partner. We’re going to continue working on last week’s project.”

Ramsey looks around nervously.

“If you’re scared of your old man finding me here, I promise I’ll take care of it.” It’s not my intent to break up sweet love, but I know what love looks like on Ramsey Ford, and what she has with Langston is not it. “Or you could just tell me what kind of trouble you’re in with the congressman and let me help you.”

Her gaze snaps to mine. “I’m not in any trouble. I’m marrying Langston in a few weeks, and there’s nothing you can say or do to stop me.”

“Spoken like a true con artist.” I grin. “I have to say, Ray, I’m awfully turned on by your naughtiness right now.”

Pulling out her sketchpad, she rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous if you think I’m—”

A guy I don’t know interrupts her. “You ready, Ramsey?” He has a sketch pad in his hand and a death wish in his eyes.

I snatch the pad from his hand, flipping through the pages until I find one of Ramsey’s eyes—sad and haunted. “And you’re both delirious if you think this little coloring session is continuing.” I tear the page from his book and hand it back. “Find another partner. This one is taken.”

Ramsey sighs and drops her head back to her shoulders. “Duke, you can’t just—”

Every breath she uses to defend this stranger does nothing but ignite white-hot jealousy throughout my body. “I warned you, Ray.” This time, I grab her sketch pad and flip through the pages, looking for the portrait of this obnoxious dude, but when I get to it, I stop cold.

There is no portrait of the guy in front of me. Just one of me, angry and seething from the last time I saw her at Langston’s.

I blink at the image, at a loss for words.

She drew me.

Not just my eyes or the heart she carries on her body.

This is not the eighteen-year-old version of me. This is the man who saw her for the first time in years—whose prayers were answered and destroyed in a single moment.

Her hands slip the book from my hands. “You warned me, and I heeded your warning.” She flips the pages slowly, allowing me to absorb each detailed image. “You still are myonlymuse.”

I nod slowly, silently, taking in everything on those pages.

My happiness.

My anger.

My devastation.

She’s captured each moment as a memorial.

To what we had.

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